The Crucible : Starting Again
by Avayueia
Summary: The Crucible ..a Fanfiction: Reverend John Hale, two years after the Salem witch tirals. A romance. Origonal character. Will Hale always be lonely after the death of his wife and shaking of his faith?
1. Lonely

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from Miller's crucible I am just borrowing a couple.One in particular.. he he.but I DO own Renée Velmont.actually, I use her a lot. Please don't sue me that would be really really stupid. I owe my friend 15$ and have for about 3 months. I have NO money. Nevertheless, PLEASE read and respond! Oh yes, and if you don't like sex (upcoming chapters) go home. Oh yes, and I am not a Puritan colony expert, so I probably have some time period stuff wrong etc.Enjoy.  
  
CHAPTER 1  
Lonely  
  
Early in the morning John Hale awoke, lonely and similarly alone. He had forgotten to close the window the previous night, as he had been exhausted from packing. The bed covers, however, managed to keep him warm enough in his fits of nightmarish sleep.  
He pushed the covers down to his waist, leaving only the thin linen shirt between his skin and the frigid air. Laying there for a minuet, her let the coolness soak through the cloth to his body causing a shiver. Closing his eyes, he rested a hand on his chest as the late fall sun hit the window ledge.  
Two years ago, while he had been in that abominable place called Salem, his wife had passe away. She died of a cold. Their marriage had only lasted a year before her illness. The illness itself had only lasted a couple weeks. Her death was a shock and devastation to the community. Hale himself had been numb. When they wed, it was not out of love but of pressure from the community and their parents had well arranged it, but they had been relatively fond of one another. He, John Hale, back from education and a new reverend had the social pressure to take a wife to be a good model for the community and his parents had solved all of that. In many ways he had been grateful, never being particularly bold around pretty girls. Anna may not have been the loveliest woman Hale had laid eyes on, but at least she was a portrait of a good and caring soul and he loved her for that. Actually, he loved her for her goodness in much the same way he loved his sister, and there seemed to be a mutual understanding between the two concerning this matter. He, however, had been away most of the time, reviewing cases of witchcraft accusation and such. When he returned from the last and longest visit to Salem, he was brought to his house by his father and told quickly and quietly the series of events. Hale cried, but not for loss of lover, but for loss of friend, for they had never really expressed to one another as lovers do. They buried her that spring when the ground grew soft.  
Now all this was far in the past. A little over two years later and he lay alone in bed. He had never really had a bedmate. True, Anna had slept in the same bed as he, but not in the way husband and wife should. They spoke of religion and politics and people and the land most nights and mornings and that is what he missed. At least with Anna the house was not alone.  
Finally, after several minuets of letting the cold sink he, hale slowly removed himself from the bed and closed the window. There was no use in lighting a fire: He would be leaving to visit his ill old aunt in an hour or so. Unfortunately, this was a four-week's journey in good weather and his aunt was a mean old woman. However, since he was the only reverend in the family, the rest being farmers, it became his duty to visit her no matter how much the deed depressed him.  
From a chair in the corner Hale took his clothes and dressed, glad of the warmth they brought. Placing his hands on the back of the simple chair and leaning foreword, he felt tired. This seemed to be the case of late since his excursions to Salem. He felt battered and bruised, unsure of what he felt anymore other than this feeling of tiredness. Rubbing his eyes, he walked from the chair and headed down the stairs.  
Wrapped on the table was a decent lump of bread and some cheese, obviously placed there by his neighbor Mary Featherstone, the nice married mother of five from next store. She was none to bright, but giving and caring to no extent. They were to take care of his house while he visited his aunt for the winter.  
Hale unwrapped the parcel and ate a small amount. He had grown thinner since the time before Salem and ate less. Though he had grown out of what Elizabeth Proctor described and gaunt, he had not returned to his fullness.  
Outside the cold, unmoving air proved promising as not a cloud was in sight, meaning no early snow. The small, black carriage in his quaint barn was packed with all the necessities for the trip to be started today. The Featherstone had helped with this task. His chestnut horse greeted him with a soft whinny. Hale petted the horse's forehead before brining him around and out of his stall to be hooked to the carriage. When this was done hale mounted the step and climbed into the seat.  
The short distance between his house and the Featherstone's was easily covered in five minuets. He wanted to thank them for the breakfast and for agreeing to ten to his home while he went away. 


	2. Hurt

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from Miller's crucible I am just borrowing a couple.One in particular.. he he.but I DO own Renée Velmont.actually, I use her a lot. Please don't sue me that would be really really stupid. I owe my friend 15$ and have for about 3 months. I have NO money. Nevertheless, PLEASE read and respond! Oh yes, and if you don't like sex (upcoming chapters) go home. Oh yes, and I am not a Puritan colony expert, so I probably have some period stuff wrong etc.Enjoy.  
  
CHAPTER 2  
Hurt  
  
Four days into the trip and the weather and the sky began the cloud. Seven days in the warmth increased and rain came, making it difficult as the wheels kept sticking in mud holes. Ten days in and the temperature dropped turning the rain to light snow. Eleven days in and the light snow had turned to a harsh snow, making the journey near impossible.  
Hale cursed himself for not exacting better judgement in not staying in the last little town. The people had warned him that the weather would change like this. He did not listen.  
The night of the twelfth day approached and the snow had grown thick and deep. Thoroughly out in the wilderness between two towns far apart, Hale began to feel a slight panic. He had to find shelter and fast if he was going to have sleep for the night. Just a little further though, he thought to himself. Maybe he would find a home. After another hour's worth of travel, a strange dark lump appeared in the road. As he approached in the blinding thick snow it became apparent that the lump was a bridge.  
A bridge this far out could only mean one thing: There was a home or settlement nearby. Eager to continue past the bridge, Hale drove his horse on.  
Huddled up tight in his long sheepskin coat and wool traveling blanket, they approached the bridge. Looking to the side Hale could see the water's high edge rising nearly to the bottom of the structure. His horse bobbed its head in protest. One foot laid on the edge of the bridge and his horse reared up, refusing to move a step further even under Hale's shouts. Thoroughly aggravated and anxious to find whatever dwelling possibly lay ahead, Hale jumped from the carriage and trudged to the front of the horse. Grabbing the reigns, he roughly yanked in an attempt to pull the horse across. The typically good-natured horse, exhausted and well and completely frightened of the rickety bridge reared up again and began to buck. Hale, angry now, tried to pull him down by the reigns. It was infrequent for John Hale to be angry, but these were extenuating circumstances. The cold ate further into his boots, pants and even through the lambskin coat. Hi typical black hat started to soak with cold sweat as he struggled with the horse.  
Refusing to give up, the horse's temper grew from bad to foul. The continuous bucking snapped the runners holding the horse to the carriage. Before hale could react, the horse has wheeled about roughly placing a well aimed hard kick right his lower rib cage.  
Hale felt a sick crack in his torso and a flood of pain as he was sent flying near the foot of the bridge. He hit the ground square on his back, hitting his head hard before managing to turn himself over. Gulping for breath with searing pain in every air intake, light started to dance before his eyes. Facing the ground, he passed out. 


	3. Found

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from Miller's crucible I am just borrowing a couple.One in particular.. he he.but I DO own Renée Velmont.actually, I use her a lot. Please don't sue me that would be really really stupid. I owe my friend 15$ and have for about 3 months. I have NO money. Nevertheless, PLEASE read and respond! Oh yes, and if you don't like sex (upcoming chapters) go home. Oh yes, and I am not a Puritan colony expert, so I probably have some time period stuff wrong etc.Enjoy.  
  
CHAPTER 3  
Found  
  
Timothy Velmont, a strong and particularly large man of twenty-eight, trudged in heavy boots through the woods from feeding the horses and cows when he heard a horse's call. This, however, was not from any of his horses unless they had got out. It was coming from the wrong direction. Axe over shoulder, he made his way to the direction of the sound. There was no wind so he knew the direction from which t came. Heading toward the bridge, Timothy climbed the small hill that obscured the bridge from the home. At the top he could plainly see what had happened.  
A small carriage lay overturned at the other side of the large creek and across the bridge he had been meaning to repair. A horse stood nearby. A man lay in the snow face down.  
Timothy moved down the hill as fast as he could, avoiding a fatal fall. Knowing the wreck had just occurred moments before as he assumed this was the horse that called, he still move quickly knowing that the man could be in real danger.  
When Timothy reached to bottom of the hill he ran across the bridge and to the man. He was still breathing. His axe on the ground, he knelt closer to the man. There was blood on the back of his head trickling to his neck. Timothy carefully rolled him over. The man did not move to wake but merely groaned. Remembering the cold, Timothy propped the smaller man over his back like a sack of flour and made for the bridge. The structure groaned under the weight of the two men, but in his estimation, the horse was right to not want to cross. It would support two humans but no more. Timothy wondered what exactly happened.  
The short distance to his home was hard in the thigh deep snow with another man's weight on his back. Leaning against the front door he pounded with one large and gloved fist.  
The heavy door flung open almost as if by itself and Timothy stumbled in.  
"Where have you been.Oh my lord!" A young, small lightly redheaded woman stepped away from the now closed door.  
"Saving the day." Timothy panted, bending down to the floor to release himself of the other man's weight.  
"Don't stop there! Pick him back up! Bring him upstairs!" His younger sister ordered. Timothy gave her a pleading look before hauling the man back up onto his back. He slowly mad his way up the heavy stairs, following his sister. Upstairs there was one large, well-kept and cozy room. Two large oak beds occupied the room on either side. Above each bed was a window covered with thick curtains to block out the cold. Timothy's sister light the multiple lamps in the room before he made it to the top. Pausing with the man still hung over his back, Timothy looked questioningly at his sister.  
"Renée, are you sure? Would it not be more appropriate..."  
"Stop arguing and bring him here." Renée said curtly, standing by her own bed. Timothy lugged over and tried his best to let the man down careful to the mattress. Renée had quickly removed the original sheets and replaced them with old ones, as Hale's bleeding head was visible. Blood is not something to wash easily from fabric.  
"I found him by the bridge, his horse is still out there."  
"Then it would be best to not let the poor creature freeze to death. Take a hot drink of cider downstairs and see if you can bring him to the barn." Said Renée.  
"Right." Timothy departed for the stairs. Looking back, he saw his sister bent over the man he had found with a strange caring look to her that she did not often exhibit. Renée had a tendency to be a stuck up an arrogant young woman. This, however, he thought suited her much better. 


	4. Bandages

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from Miller's crucible I am just borrowing a couple.One in particular.. he he.but I DO own Renée Velmont.actually, I use her a lot. Please don't sue me that would be really really stupid. I owe my friend 15$ and have for about 3 months. I have NO money. Nevertheless, PLEASE read and respond! Oh yes, and if you don't like sex (upcoming chapters) go home. Oh yes, and I am not a Puritan colony expert, so I probably have some time period stuff wrong etc.Enjoy.  
  
CHAPTER 4  
Bandages  
  
Renée bent over the man on her bed. There was blood wet and caked to the back of his head. She decided first, however, to remove the heavy and damp coat from his body. He was not a huge man, not like her brother who towered in comparison, but not small either. Removing the coat was not too terribly difficult. The young man inside the coat made a pained sound but did not stir. Renée threw the coat in the corner. Another black overcoat separated his injuries from her care. Removing that she began to notice that only when she touched the rib cage area did he make pained sounds. Only after the black overcoat was removed as well as the darker vest did she notice the faint blood traces on the white shirt in the place where he seemed to be pained. Ripping open the shirt she found an extremely large black and blue area with bloody spots. She guessed either the horse or the carriage had hit him hard.  
His upper torso now completely exposed, she removed his boots. Fortunately the room was quite warm so she did not have to worry about covering him with heavy blankets. His chest was pale with some hair. He was not a skinny man nor was he fat but any means. Concentrating on the bruised and broken spots she moved on to check the back of his head. He lay on the left side of the bed with an injured right side. As not to hurt or crush what she thought might be broken ribs Renée leaned over his body and rolled him on his left side and propped him there with a pillow in front.  
The back of his head was soaked in blood, though she guessed it could have been worse. Quickly she ran downstairs, not wanting to leave him alone for any longer than she had to, grabbing a pot of warm water off the stove. Upstairs she checked to see if the man was still okay. She grabbed some clean, old linen rags from the linen chest and made her way back to the bed. Setting the warm pot down on the bed stand, she dipped one of the rags in the water and began to daub the back of his head gently. If Timothy were to put the horse in the barn he would be a while longer.  
Sitting on the bedside for comfort, Renée leaned his head into her lap for better access to the wound. She began to softly sing a lolling tune as she daubed away. At first there seemed to be too much blood, but after three of four rags the mess started to abate. Apparently the bleeding had slowed or ceased; this she was grateful for.  
Renée stared down at his face, so quite like a sleeping child. Slowly she began to feel the warmth a mother might experience come over her. Her heart ached for his condition.  
Soon the head-wound was cleaned. Taking more fresh scraps from the lined chest she tore a long strip to wrap his head. Cradling him, she bound the wound, taking extra care to make it look nice.  
Next she moved to his ribs, cleaning those cuts as well. By the time the deed was done Timothy had returned and made his way upstairs.  
"Damned horse is mad. Couldn't catch it even if all of Hell were after me."  
"That is fine. I imagine it is what caused this then." She motioned to the ribs. "Help me while I change the sheets. He cannot sleep here in drying blood.  
"So he is going to be well?'  
"I think so. He will live." At this she motioned Timothy to pick him up as she changed the sheets. He gently laid the man down on the left side again when the bed was ready.  
"Then I shall go finish my supper." Timothy descended the stairs leaving Renée and the stranger alone once again.  
Renée set to putting the room in order again. She, closed the linen trunk, gathered the drying bloody sheets and rags and brought them down the stirs. By the side door, she placed the dirty items in a wooden box that usually contained items in need of washing. Timothy sat at the table with a bowl of thick soup, taking several more crude slurps before noticing Renée had sat down at the table herself.  
"What happened?" She asked before lifting a spoonful of coup to her mouth.  
"I really don't know. It looks as if his horse refused to cross the bridge. Smart horse. That carriage was loaded down with far too much and as we well know the bridge needs good mending."  
"Smart horse. From the looks of his clothes he is clergy. Why would we have traveling clergy out at this time? You have lived here longer than I have. Clergy out in the snow. Puritans are strange."  
"They aren't as strange as you would think."  
"Oh yes. I forgot. People usually go tromping around the country where nobody knows them in snow storms. Clergy especially. If you ask me, I think the Catholics are better off. Stay in a nice warm cathedral."  
"But you are not Catholic." Timothy eyed Renée over his bowl. She had made it clear when she had arrived on the ship from Port Royal that she did not intend to live like a Puritan. Their father had recently died of a Caribbean fever and Renée had decided to visit her brother with the news. Not that Timothy cared in the least: He had disobeyed his father by coming to Salem to become a Puritan, though it was not all he had expected.  
"Of course not. The only thin good part of being a Catholic occurs if you are the clergy." Renée was Anglican by birth, her father being a merchant from England, but never really adhered to a religion having grown up on the sea and in the Caribbean. She had seen too many different gods among the natives to really believe that the god the church spoke about was real.  
"So tomorrow I believe I will find that horse if it is still alive and put it in the stables. I will be gone most of the day hunting if all else goes well. I shouldn't be back until after supper."  
"No need to tell me. You've done that today, and they day before, and the day before that and the day before that. I have plenty to occupy myself with." Renée was a writer and had never had difficulty finding something to do even when all the work around the house had been accomplished. Unlike most women in the nearby town, she stayed inside during this winter. Other wives and sisters accompanied their husbands and brothers outside with various tasks. Renée however, had an extremely low tolerance for the cold having been raised in the tropical world and besides, with just they two of the around there was not much to clean after. They only had two horses for the wagon and neither had any children. One lonely cow loitered around the house and pastures, constantly chewing hay. In all, with their extremely well built house and Timothy's skill in nearly every trade needed around a home there was little that needed repair. Most of Timothy's time was spent hunting in the surrounding woods which was fine by his sister for he had a tendency to stomp about and make various other noises while she wanted to read or write.  
Several more hours passed by the fire as timothy carved a beautiful cane and Renée absorbed herself in yet another book. At bed time Renée changed the man's bandages as they has slowly bloodied. Every time his body shifted a pained moan escaped his throat. Renée could not stand these. As much as she generally did not like clergy, he was young, calm and in pain. Though her exterior usually consisted of a bossy, cold and busy aura, this somehow penetrated all the tough shell and reached inside to her warm and motherly nature. This she could fell and knew. Quietly to herself she noted how much like an angel from a painting he looked. She gently brushed a loose strand of hair from the side of his face. 


	5. Notes

Hello. Okay. I am writing more. Don't worry. LOL. PLEASE respond.  
I know this isn't something people like to read a lot of.original characters.  
Originally I wrote it for myself, but since there are SOOO little Crucible fics out there I had to put it up! I have another one too. Okay, so I will have the other one up and this is going to be a relatively longer story. Not a freaking novel, but with many chapters. Have fun!!!  
  
P.S. I am trying to make Hale more like the original or movie character than in my other fic My Own Sin, The Pleasure in a Moment. 


End file.
